1

ALL SHE HAD TO DO was get through the gate.

“There she is!” a lone voice cried out from the crowd of people closing in around the car.

The school rose up behind the gilded gates of Rosewood Hall, its windows winking in the sunlight, the stone pillars carved with roses. Their safe haven. Yet here, outside it, this sea of strangers spread like an awful stain.

Journalists.

The gates usually did a good job of keeping them at bay, but the sidewalk outside the school walls was a no-man’s-land in this fight for privacy. Anything went—and Lottie was the best story these journalists could get. Until she passed through those gates it was open season.

But first she had to get Ellie away from these sharks.

“Nikolay,” she whispered, “please sneak Ellie into the school. I’ll distract them.”

“But Lottie—” Her princess tried to protest, sniffing loudly.

“It’s fine, Ellie. Don’t worry.” She threw her a reassuring glance. “This is what I’ve been trained for, remember?”

They’d dealt with the press after the incident at the Tompkins Manor, and Lottie had answered their questions well, but then she’d had the king’s advisor, Simien Smirnov, to coach her. He’d warned that the dam would eventually break, that they’d get hungry for more. And from the looks on these journalists’ faces, that moment had come.

“I’ll see you inside,” Lottie assured her princess, putting on her best smile as she watched Ellie disappear, rubbing her nose.

In the two years Lottie had known her, not once had Ellie ever had a cold. It was strange to see the red of fever on her pale olive skin, the deep shadows beneath her eyes, and the dry, chapped lips, all weighing heavy on a body usually so full of life.

Seeing Ellie ill filled Lottie with a furious determination. She was her Portman, meant to take on the burdens of being a princess so Ellie could play the part of a normal girl. Getting sick was what happened to stressed and worried people. Not a princess.

Lottie was meant to do the worrying.

When Lottie stepped out of the car it was cloudy but warm, the staple of a British summer. The air crackled with the threat of a storm.

Well, come on then. Let it break.

Lottie walked confidently into the fray.

“Has there been any more information on the mysterious Leviathan?”

“Why haven’t you been out in public since the incident? Are you afraid?”

“Can we see a smile?”

Kind, brave, unstoppable! Kind, brave, unstoppable! Lottie repeated the words over and over in her head, tapping the wolf pendant at her chest, then moving her hand up to adjust the tiara nestled in her hair.

The crescent-moon opal at the top of the tiara rose to greet the sun when she lifted her chin boldly, the strength of the intricate silver headpiece coursing through her, reminding her that she was never alone, that she always had a piece of her family with her.

In a great display of poise, she walked calmly down the line of reporters. At her side, where the princess’s Partizan should have been, was a hired bodyguard. Samuel was a nice enough man, and Lottie had to keep reminding herself that it wasn’t his fault Jamie wasn’t with them. Because Jamie had been very clear that he didn’t want to come with them to collect their exam results.

Instinctively Lottie clasped the wolf at her heart. It was a pendant she shared with her princess, a gift that had welcomed her into the royal family, the weight of it a reminder that they were all connected. Only now Jamie had broken their link, and she felt it like a wound in her chest.

A microphone was suddenly shoved into her face, grasped by a hand that stank of cigarettes.

She stared at the reporter holding it as he aggressively repeated his question.

“Has any more progress been made on finding out why Leviathan are after you, Princess?”

Lottie took a deep breath to steady her voice. “It’s still the same information. As far as we’re aware, Leviathan . . .” Her throat went dry at the name, memories of Ingrid and Julius swarming around her. They were the deadly duo who had nearly kidnapped her. “As far as we’re aware, they’re targeting the children of important and influential families, but their objective is still unknown.”

Samuel put an arm around her and smoothly guided her away from the reporters. Lottie couldn’t help cringing at her answer.

Her words had been true. Almost.

But the whole truth was much less easy to digest—because the truth was they had no idea what Leviathan were really planning. All they had was a terrible theory, that they might want to control those influential children, and that Lottie and her friends may very well have given them the tools to do so when they found the Hamelin Formula, a dangerous mix of chemicals that could be used to brainwash people.

“This must have all been awfully difficult for you!” a man’s voice called after her, rich with fake sympathy. The temptation to roll her eyes was almost unbearable. “How have you coped with adjusting back to normality?”

Barely.

Lottie had to shush the voice in her head, turning to smile pleasantly at the crowd.

These were the questions they asked the most. Personal questions. A chance for them to get to know this mysterious Maravish princess who’d somehow landed herself in the center of an evil conspiracy.

Lottie couldn’t help imagining the looks on all the reporters’ faces if they found out she wasn’t even the real princess. A professional fake, only a cover for Ellie, who was already safely inside the school gates, thank goodness.

“They just want a good story,” Simien had warned her. “And a good princess.”

Heeding his words, Lottie swept a stray lock of hair from her face. She’d scooped her curls up in a meticulously arranged chignon, a request from Simien when he’d declared her “frowsy tresses” to be too long and unruly for public appearances. She just couldn’t bring herself to cut it.

“I have a wonderful support network,” she said now, “and with everyone’s kindness and patience I have found my studies both comforting and a welcome distraction.” Lottie put on her absolute best smile to let them all know just how much she loved studying.

Look at me, look at what a great student the Maravish princess is.

A camera flashed, sending dots dancing in front of her eyes. She brushed a hand over her face, staggering.

“No photos or videos,” Samuel ordered, shielding Lottie.

The next question was painful to hear, yet she should have been used to it now. After all, they asked it every single time.

“We love your dress, Princess! Who are you wearing?”

Lottie imagined how Ellie might answer something so ridiculous. “I’m wearing the skin of the princess formally known as Her Royal Highness Princess Eleanor Prudence Wolfson!”

Laughter caught in her throat and she swallowed it down.

She smiled again, going pink in what she hoped they’d think was humility and not irritation. “I’m wearing a modern take on the traditional sarafan dress in Maravish style. From the A-line shape, the sun embroidery, and distinctive design, I’m sure you can recognize the work of Léon Marie.”

She could practically hear Ellie gagging in the distance, and she wouldn’t have blamed her. There was a giant conspiracy afoot, yet all these fools wanted to know about was her dress. Part of her wished they’d take it more seriously.

A wish she’d quickly regret.

Samuel eased her farther along, nodding to let her know she was doing a good job. The gate was just moments away now, the rose gardens coming into view. Only a few more steps and she’d be free.

“We were told the princess was attending a fencing tournament?” A calm and steady voice sliced through all the other questions, a Pacific Northwest accent that dripped with the confidence of a big city. “So why exactly were you in the manor and not watching the match?”

Lottie’s blood ran cold. This was the first time she’d been asked such a suspicious question, and her eyes snapped onto the mystery inquisitor. A smartly dressed young woman with thin rectangular glasses and a sharp-cut black bob stared back at her. She seemed to inhabit a space all of her own in the crowd of journalists, standing out like a beacon. A name tag on her blue blouse read “Aimee Wu, Clear Line Media.”

Lottie reminded herself that she needed to keep moving, yet the look on Aimee’s face froze her to the spot.

“We were looking for the Hamelin Formula,” Lottie responded smoothly, gathering herself. She could almost touch the golden gates behind her. The familiar, sweet scent of roses and lavender drifted around her, urging her to step inside to safety.

“That’s the dangerous formula that Leviathan were attempting to re-create?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell a teacher about it? And what exactly happened to this Hamelin Formula?”

Heat rose in Lottie’s chest. She didn’t know which question to answer first.

The other reporters fell silent, everyone’s attention now locked on Aimee and Lottie.

“Unfortunately Leviathan took the formula, and it is unclear what they plan to do with it or if it works. As for your other question, we wrongly believed that we—” Lottie’s throat went tight again, remembering the magnitude of how wrong they’d been, and the terrible consequences of their mistake. It had all been a trick; they’d led Leviathan to the formula like obedient dogs. Aimee instantly took the opportunity to launch another question as though she were throwing a hand grenade.

“Who is ‘we’?” Before Lottie could answer, another question was hurled across the space. “Also, I must ask, we were told at the Tompkins press dinner that the Hamelin Formula had been locked away with no way of finding it. So how exactly did these Leviathans end up with it?”

“‘We’ is my friends . . .” Samuel was right beside her, urging her to step through the gate, but when she tried to answer, the phantom scent of icing sugar from the factory caught in her nostrils, nearly choking her.

Leviathan was not the only memory to torment Lottie. She also remembered the taste of a kiss, sweet from the sugar in the factory. A moment of joy before everything had gone up in flames. She was so sure it had meaning, that she and Ellie had shared something special, and yet afterward her princess had claimed it was nothing at all.

So why, Lottie wondered, if it really meant nothing, does Ellie refuse to talk about it?

“Princess?” Aimee urged, dragging Lottie from her thoughts.

“My friends from Rosewood and myself,” she said a little too quickly, “and Leviathan found the formula because we discovered the key to where it was hidden.”

The key, it turned out, had been a piece of music. When it was played on the Tompkins twins’ grandfather’s piano, the melody had opened a secret hatch in the side of the instrument where the formula was hidden. At the time it had seemed magical. But really, it was wicked.

Lottie realized she’d lost all composure. She was gabbling her responses like a child. The way Aimee relentlessly threw questions at her made it impossible to gather her thoughts in time.

Why is no one else asking questions?

“How did Leviathan find the key?”

“They stole it from us.”

“Did you find the key?”

Lottie felt her heart thundering in her chest. She was answering these questions all wrong and she knew it. The journalists didn’t need to know any of this—shouldn’t know. She’d given too much away.

“I’m afraid I must leave now; I need to get my exam results.” There was a sudden breeze, and as she turned she saw rose petals float through the air, a trail of them drifting down to welcome her. Glancing back over her shoulder, she added, “I’m expecting excellent grades.”

Lottie’s gaze was fixed on one person only. Aimee Wu. Light glinted off Aimee’s glasses, her eyes cast down to where she was writing in a notepad. With each flick of the pen, a thick ball of dread settled uncomfortably in Lottie’s stomach.

Samuel’s arm draped protectively over her shoulders, his large body shielding her from any further questions. Samuel had eased the golden gate open. “Come on,” he said, quietly encouraging her. She began to follow him, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Aimee, who now stared hypnotically back. And just as Lottie stepped through the gate, she tripped.

The ground came hurtling up toward her, and she threw her hands out to break her fall. Cameras clicked. Samuel’s voice called out.

A strong hand effortlessly pulled her up. The sting on her knees told her she’d scraped them, and her arm ached where she’d landed on it. Soon there would be bruises, but that would be the least of her troubles.

Limping up the pathway, confused and hot with embarrassment, Lottie could still feel Aimee Wu’s eyes burning through the back of her head, people sniggering and most likely comparing photos of a princess groveling on the ground.

I’ve really messed this up.